


I hate you, but I hate losing you more

by ChipperChemical



Series: Hermitcraft stuff [4]
Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Fluff, Grian can sing just go with it, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, and you probably don’t either, based on a Tumblr prompt so you know it’ll be great, come get y’all juice, does anyone actually know how to tag? no., high-quality trash right here, i’ve never really written grumbo before so here, just some soft boys watching Disney, m/m - Freeform, minesonas only (obviously), old :(, ooc but i don’t care, real life au? college au? apartment au?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24914899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChipperChemical/pseuds/ChipperChemical
Summary: The person downstairs has sung every single night, for seven long months, strumming their guitar and driving Mumbo insane. He’s a college student, for goodness sake: he needs to sleep!Every night, Mumbo has asked for the singing to just stop.So why does he feel so awful when it does?[rated teen+ for swearing]
Relationships: Oliver Brotherhood/Charles | Grian
Series: Hermitcraft stuff [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2181648
Comments: 2
Kudos: 176





	I hate you, but I hate losing you more

**Author's Note:**

> This is quite old (2019), so be warned. It’s also quite OOC, please excuse that.

There it fucking was again.

Mumbo would be lying if he said that the singing wasn't annoying; it had been happening ever since he moved into this god forsaken apartment, and you would think that he had gotten used to it, yet he hadn't. Every night, at some stupidly late hour, the person downstairs would play their guitar and sing songs out of the window, and it had taken away from Mumbo’s sleep every goddamn night, for seven months. Trying to put a noise complaint in after the first month wasn’t worth the effort — the landlord was a jerk anyway, he learnt.

Though, as much as he complained, the person had a lovely voice, and could play the guitar beautifully. Each song sounded unlike the last, and Mumbo actually began to wonder if they wrote their own songs: they seemed creative enough. From what he could tell, they didn't leave their apartment much, as Mumbo couldn't recall ever seeing anyone leave or enter. It confused him, though he hated to admit it. Someone with that perfect of a voice should be doing gigs in bars, not staying at home all day doing who-knows-what; he couldn't really judge, though, so he kept his mouth shut.

Turning over, Mumbo pulled the pillow over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut, in an attempt to muffle the noise. Sparing a last glance at the clock, he noted that it was 2:37am and passed out.

✎✐✎✎✐✎✎✐✎✎✐✎✎✐✎

The next day passed in a flash, and Mumbo found himself still fully awake at 1am, after setting aside his college textbooks and sighing. He was tempted to slam his head into the desk until he heard an oddly comforting voice from outside. Opening the window, he decided he had not much better to do than listen to the stranger as he pulled his striped pyjamas from the closet and organised his textbooks and assignments.

"I built a friend...  With three pieces of plastic and a pen... I  made him on the table in the den...  I gave him my old cellphone for a head.  For a head,” The voice sang, the chords spilling to the night: it took Mumbo a moment to realise that the song was telling an actual story. 

It sounded strangely beautiful, for lack of a better term. To the redstone student, who had only ever heard the voice sing vague verses about emotions, the soft vocals and the sweet tune could almost lull him to sleep. The stranger hummed for a while, still strumming the guitar, like they were figuring out what to sing next.

"And we spent, holidays in my—“ The voice stopped to break into quiet laughter, and Mumbo yawned, closing the window again and clambering into his bed. Casting a last glance out the window, he fell asleep, memories of the pleasant tune fresh in his mind.

✎✐✎✎✐✎✎✐✎✎✐✎✎✐✎

A boy walked into the apartment today.

Mumbo’s mind was racing; he had only left to grab a coffee from the nearby cafe, but now he had much more important things to ponder. A boy, walking into the downstairs apartment. Was he the neighbour's brother? The voice was too young to be this person, surely. A classmate, perhaps? Or, a boyfriend?

That last possibility seemed unlikely to Mumbo; the singer never left his apartment, so when would he ever have time to meet a boy?

Jotting it down mentally, he brushed off the part of him that felt like this was invading privacy and continued walking.

✎✐✎✎✐✎✎✐✎✎✐✎✎✐✎

Voices, coming from the downstairs apartment. Two boys, seeming around Mumbo’s age, maybe younger, shouting from the downstairs apartment, like they were arguing. 

A door slamming shut? Glancing out of his own door, Mumbo saw that boy from earlier storming down the stairs, his brown hair messier than earlier. So that boy slammed the door. Hm.

He made a note of it and continued with his day.

✎✐✎✎✐✎✎✐✎✎✐✎✎✐✎

Night rolled over the city, and Mumbo waited by the window for him to start singing once again, but to no avail. No singing ever came from downstairs; the only noise was the upbeat music blasting from the party a few apartments across. Now, Mumbo may have been a spoon, but he knew when something was wrong.

He didn't like this. He didn't like this at all.

The next day came and went, and there wasn't a sound from the downstairs apartment at all. No singing, no doors opening, no audible television. Nothing. Mumbo was worried.

It was on the third day that Mumbo decided that he needed to do something about this. The singer had been quiet for three whole days, after performing every night for just over half of a year, even if it were only a single line on some days. Grabbing his notepad which he was meant to write notes in but ultimately just filled it with doodles and messages to his friends, he ripped out a blank page and tapped his pen on the desk, before clicking it and writing.

“Hello person in apartment 82A!

I've heard you sing every night for several months, but you've been ~~quite~~ quiet these past few days, and it's ~~scaring~~ worrying me. I just wanted to check in and make sure that you're ok. 

I also heard something like arguing the night that the music stopped. I hope you're alright.

Please reply soon so I don't lose sleep over this,

Mumbo, the person in apartment 84A (right above you)”

_Good enough_. Mumbo folded the paper into quarters and crept down the staircase, slipping the note through the mailbox before sneaking back up and rushing into his apartment. 

✎✐✎✎✐✎✎✐✎✎✐✎✎✐✎

The next day, Mumbo was rudely awoken by the sun in his eyes, and decided to reluctantly get up instead of argue meaninglessly with the light. As he wandered into his living room, rubbing his eyes, he caught a glimpse of a note on the floor, right by the door. Immediately knowing what it was, Mumbo rushed to the paper, hurriedly unfolding it and surprising himself that he didn’t rip it. 

“Hi Mumbo,

Sorry to worry you! I only sung at night because I thought no-one else could hear me. “:D

I’ll be sure to sing somewhere else, should I ever sing again. 

Thank you!

The secret person in apartment 82A ;)”

Mumbo internally groaned; he was hoping to get an answer to the silence, or at least a name for the singer. However, being left with neither, he did the only thing he could think of.

✎✐✎✎✐✎✎✐✎✎✐✎✎✐✎

Showing up unexpectedly at a stranger's house with the only reason being that they hadn't been singing, is one of the things that Mumbo thought he'd never do. However, the universe had its ways, he concluded as he knocked on the door and waited patiently for an answer. Surprisingly, the door actually creaked open, revealing a baby blue eye and a few locks of dirty blond hair.

"Can I help you?" The boy began, his voice awfully familiar; Mumbo involuntarily grinned, knowing he'd found the right person.

"Yes, you can!" he exclaimed, "Are you the singer?"

“Oh-“ The boy hesitated, before nodding, “Used to be singer, yeah.."

"I'm from apartment 84A. May I come in?"

The visible eye widened and the door swung fully open, revealing the singer's full figure; he was petite, and much more boy-ish than Mumbo had anticipated, though it made sense the more he thought about it. Blond hair draped over one of his eyes which he quickly brushed away, and his eyes were bloodshot — as if he had been crying — with deeply etched bags. The singer wore a greatly oversized, red sweater, and a pair of pyjama pants with pastel blue bunny slippers. Motioning for Mumbo to walk in, he turned and quickly rubbed his eyes, sniffing, before shutting the door behind his guest and flicking on the lights.

_He had been sitting in darkness?_ Mumbo thought, glancing around,  _By_ _god, this place is a dump. And that's coming from me. Xisuma would hate this._

Empty cans of pop and ice-cream tubs littered the floor, as well as balled-up tissues and papers; the cabinets were left open and completely barren, and the television was mutely playing a dead channel. 

"Sorry about the mess... I didn't expect any guests for a while," The other explained, scratching the back of his neck and offering a small smile. 

"It's completely fine! I'll help you clean if you want, uh..." Mumbo paused, realising that he was yet to know the singer's name; it was almost as if he could read minds, because as soon as he hesitated, the shorter answered the unspoken question:

"Grian. My name is Grian," Grian replied, watching Mumbo’s face light up, "And, you don't need to help clean, I can do it myself—“

"No can do, Mister Sweet Name. You need to sleep, and to be in a better environment than this. I'm kind-of under the assumption that, correct me if I’m wrong, you've just gone through a break-up with that boy-" Grian nodded, ignoring the endearing nickname, "-so I'll handle buying food and cleaning. All you need to do is sit back, and tell me about yourself. Deal?"

Mumbo outstretched a hand, which Grian reluctantly took, shaking it firmly; he was eternally grateful for the extra help, but he wasn't sure how he felt about a practical stranger going through his things. But, he'd take whatever he could get, and who was he to deny such a kind face?

Dang, calm down; sure, Grian had a tendency to move on quickly, but still, not that fast. Lingering by the couch, he watched as Mumbo guided him to sit down, and began picking up the plastic and metal packaging from the floor and dumping it all into a giant trash bag.

"So, Grian," Mumbo made an attempt to fill the silence, enjoying the way the name rolled off his tongue, “What do you do for fun?"

"Ack-" Grian giggled, "Um- not much, really. I spend most of my time at work as a demolition apprentice for the Boomers - you'd be surprised at how many people stuff blown up - but I guess I sing and write songs. What about you?"

"Practically the same case with the job; I'm in college and taking more courses than I want to admit, so... When I get the chance, I like to make machines, and draw, but it's usually just crappy doodles, and... yeah."

Mumbo had finished up with the littered floor and grabbed his phone, "I'm going to head out and buy you food; you need proper meals."

Mumbo was about to leave when Grian grabbed his sleeve, 

"No, I can give you the money to buy food! And, just instant ramen is fine; you can use the spare change to buy yourself something!" 

Mumbo blinked before agreeing with a laugh and continuing the walk to the store. After a (quite frankly) boring trip, he returned to the remarkably cleaner apartment, only to be met with the sound of water running. Curious, he set the bags of food into the counter and glanced into the corridor, seeing a door with what seemed to be wisps of steam spilling from the sides.

Assuming that Grian was just showering, Mumbo emptied the bags, making sure to organise the cabinets and set each thing in neatly. Since Grian had insisted, Mumbo bought a treat with the spare money; a bag of popcorn, for each of them. He hoped that the cute-personalitied boy liked popcorn. Maybe they could even watch a movie, and—

His train of thought was cut off by the shower stopping. After a few moments, Grian stepped out in a towel, blinking in shock a few times when spotting Mumbo. Squeaking out a 'be right back', Grian scurried into a nearby room, which Mumbo guessed was his bedroom.

Grian walked out in a pair of black jeans, and a different red sweater (better-fitting), with his hair brushed properly now and a glint in his eyes that Mumbo swore wasn't there before.

"So... Would you like to do anything?" Grian asked unsurely, dragging Mumbo out of his daydream to nod.

"I bought some popcorn, if you want to try it? Maybe we can watch a movie?" Suggested Mumbo, waving the popcorn almost teasingly. If Grian didn't know better, which he barely did, he'd think that it was almost flirty.

"Sure! I haven't seen a lot of films actually, so just pick your favourite and I can get it on Netflix!" Grian agreed, before muttering, "If Netflix even has it...”

Laughing at the remark, Mumbo put the popcorn into the microwave, thinking for a moment.

"How about we just watch some good old-fashioned Disney?" He eventually suggested, opening the microwave once again so he could get out the popcorn. Wordlessly, Grian nodded, and they settled down on the couch at each other's side. After a while of scrolling, the movie began, and Grian closed his eyes, smiling happily.

This was the start of a whole new chapter.


End file.
